


my drunk nights couldn't erase it

by mcmargentinski713



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Post-Canon, Based on a song, F/M, Happy Ending, Some light angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-30
Updated: 2017-12-30
Packaged: 2019-02-24 01:55:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,283
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13203258
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mcmargentinski713/pseuds/mcmargentinski713
Summary: Lydia and Stiles are living with one of Lydia's friends/co-workers in an apartment in NYC, and almost half a year ago Lydia decided to focus on her new job, but she's having second thoughts when they go out to Stiles' favorite bar on 17th as if they were seventeen and new to the East Coast.





	my drunk nights couldn't erase it

**Author's Note:**

> I'd suggest listening to Taxi by EXES on spotify while reading this because that's what this fic is based on. Lol. Anyway, I hope you enjoy. :D 
> 
> Disclaimer: I don't own teen wolf or the characters. 
> 
> Also, it's not a total au, just a little cause would Stiles and Lydia really ever actually break up? I think not, but for the purpose of this fic, they did. So, yeah. :) 
> 
> Oh, and I hope everyone has a great New Year's!

Stiles is hanging head over over the bed, one arm dangling off it and the other mindlessly playing with the trail of hair near his jeans. 

 

“What about the bar on 17th?” he suggests.

 

Lydia sits across the room, bored of working on the same research all night. “That’s the sleazy one you like?”

 

“They’re all sleazy?” Meagan offers optimistically. 

 

Lydia purses her lips, thinking, her eyes do the thing where they wander across her brow bone and Stiles watches, waiting for a response. 

 

“Mkay.  _ But  _ the second a guy starts putting his hands up on my thigh-” 

 

“Got it.” Stiles answers, flipping off Lydia’s bed. 

 

Even though they’re broken up, Lydia wears something that reminds her of Stiles, purposely matching his blue and white plaid shirt. 

 

A few drinks in Stiles slips through the crowd and onto the dance floor, awkwardly grinding on a couple girls that seem to have some kind of interest in him. 

 

“So, you gonna stop playing this game?” Meagan wonders.

 

Lydia looks up, her head still in her elbow as her other hand traces the martini glass in front of her. “Hm?” 

 

“The one where you pretend like everything’s fine and you’re not pining over Stiles.” The blonde clarifies. 

 

“I don’t pine ov-” Lydia’s hand slips off the glass and takes it down with her, spilling it on the bar and onto the floor, thankfully missing her. “I don’t pine over Stiles.” 

 

His hand is grabbed by a girl with a platinum bob and a tiny frame and Lydia watches with curiousness. 

 

He pulls away and says something Lydia can’t hear over the loud beat playing in the bar. 

 

A guy they work with starts talking to Meagan, and she winks at Lydia getting dragged away to a dark corner. 

 

Lydia rolls her eyes, “About time,” she says to herself, amused by the situation. 

 

Stiles returns and gives Lydia a quizzical expression about Meagan’s whereabouts to which Lydia nods in the direction of which her friend took off with her long time crush. 

 

“Ah...you, uh, wanna get outta here?” 

 

Lydia knows that in this state it’s a  _ terrible _ idea to get in a taxi with Stiles-- especially since his collar bone is glistening in sweat and it’s enticing her to want him to sweat for another reason. 

 

“Sure.” she answers, sliding off the bar stool and grabbing Stiles’ arm for support. 

 

He’s the one who gets a taxi stop and helps her in so she doesn’t slip on the slush and ice covering the curb.  

 

With his arm draped around her neck Lydia recalls the time he saved her from Eichen, and wonders why she thought taking a break and focusing on her work was a good idea? Maybe they can go back. “Do you wanna?” her words connecting into one.

 

“Huh?” 

 

“Tell me you want me.” her mind is fuzzy with gin and her lips taste salty on her tongue, but fuck does she want him right now. 

 

Stiles looks at her with wrinkled brows. “Lydia…” 

 

“Do you still…?” she wonders, cuddling into him more. 

 

He arches a brow, “Do you?” 

 

“Mhmm.” she nods, tipsly. She tried to replace it, but even her drunk nights couldn’t erase it because he knows how to touch her, and more importantly he knows the old her.  

 

“Lydia, I love you, you know that, but I’m not fucking you in the backseat of a taxi while your drunk on three martinis.” 

 

“That’s why I love you,” she slurs, bunching up his shirt in her fist and burying her face into his chest until she falls asleep a minute later.

 

Stiles takes her up to their apartment and unbuttons her plaid dress and helps her slip into something more sleep appropriate. Once she’s sitting in bed he finds her makeup wipes and cleans her face for her before kissing her forehead softly and shutting the light out. 

 

Lydia wakes in the morning, wondering how she got here. “Stiles?” 

He pops his head in and asks, “Yeah?” 

 

“Did you bring me to bed?” she wonders, rolling over to face him.

 

“Uh, only if you mean in the most innocent platonic way?” he offers uncertain of what kind of answer she’s hoping for. 

 

Her lips curl up in response. “Thank you.” 

 

“I left a glass of water and some aspirin next to your bed, if you need it.” Then, he slips back out and heads off to god knows where-- probably the tiny area with the oven and a sink they call a kitchen. 

 

Lydia’s eyes twinkle at Stiles’ thoughtfulness and then she sips on the water to help the headache she has from last night. God, she can’t believe they actually went out to a bar like they were seventeen again or something? 

 

A few moments pass before she decides to flip the covers off and take a shower. 

 

The water rinses the regret of the night before off. It comes back to her in flashes, like a kaleidoscope of memories. She tried to get Stiles to make love to her in back of a taxi….oh god. 

 

When she gets out she dries off and throws on an old t-shirt she stole from him years ago when they were newly dating, and then heads down the hall into kitchen. 

 

“Hey,” she greets him shly. “What are you making?” 

 

He spins to face her, holding a pan of crepes cooking in it. “Your favorite.” 

 

Her mouth twitches into a soft smile. Of course he would, it’s Sunday morning tradition, after all.

 

“Um, about last night-” she starts. 

 

Stiles puts the pan down on the stove and rushes to her, “Don’t. It’s okay.” 

 

Lydia fixes her hair behind her ear, “I shouldn’t have- I’m sorry.” 

 

“I told you last night-- I love you, Lydia. I always have, I always will, nothing you do can change that.” 

 

“Still… I was drunk I shouldn’t have teased the idea of us in front of you,” she regrets the words as soon as they leave her. 

 

Stiles takes a step back, hurt clearly written all over his features. “So, you don’t still have feelings for me?”

 

Lydia winces. “No- that’s not- I didn’t mean that. I just mean I need a little more time to settle in to my job first, you get that, don’t you?” 

 

He doesn’t say anything. 

 

“Stiles?” 

 

He nods, sucking in a deep breath. “Yeah, yeah I get it.” And then, he does something Lydia really doesn’t expect-- he leans down until his mouth is on her cheek probably as a way to reassure her that he’s fine with this arrangement, but she can feel the bitterness in the way his mouth is too rough on her skin. 

 

They’re nearing thirty and Lydia feels like they’re eighteen and in some argument over the fact that she didn’t let him know about the Anuk-Ite and Munroe. 

 

When he pulls back a moment later, Lydia reaches her hand around his arm and pulls him back and kisses him, messily. 

 

“Wh-why’d you do that?” he asks. 

 

“Because even my drunks nights couldn’t erase the high I feel around you, and pretending like everything’s fine between us when I miss you every night is too painful,” she confesses. 

 

Stiles’ lips twitch upward into a smile and he squeezes her hand, “I love you too.” 

 

“Stiles, I think your crepes are burning.” 

 

“Crap!” He runs to take them off the stove, but it’s too late the batter is crisp and black. 

 

“You wanna go grab breakfast at the cafe on fifth that you love?” 

 

Lydia leans up on her tiptoes, placing a gentle smile on his temple before grabbing his hand and pulling him toward the door. 


End file.
